


The way history is written

by FreakCityPrincess



Series: Different Versions [3]
Category: Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: (I’ve been dying to use that tag), Alternate Universe - Artemis Fowl AU, Baze & Chirrut are the Butlers, Baze stands at Jyn’s shoulder and scares people, Cassian and Holly are both Captains so that’s justification enough, Cassian does not have Stockholm Syndrome, Chirrut cooks and occasionally scares people, Contrary to these silly tags this is a serious story, F/M, Fusion of my two biggest fandoms, Gen, I just wanted to call Cassian a fairy and this happened, Jyn is Artemis, Oh no my hostage is kinda hot, Oh no my human kidnapper is kinda hot but Frond forbid that prevents me from exacting revenge, Prior knowledge of the AF books is not required, So a criminal mastermind with blue eyes and a scathing sense of humour, Some angst, Tech genius!Kaytoo, Understanding between enemies, but Kay thinks otherwise, fairy!Cassian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-08-14 12:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16492700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreakCityPrincess/pseuds/FreakCityPrincess
Summary: When her father disappeared over the Baltic ocean as the result of a misguided weapons deal, Jyn Erso became the head of an empire she wasn’t ready to carry on her thin shoulders. It became immediately apparent that every business associate of the Ersos’ doubted a little girl’s ability to keep the vast chunk of wealth and criminal activity afloat, but she turned to prove them wrong at every turn.It wasn’t enough. Her father was alive, and she needed the finances to find him. Her mother was spiralling into madness and Jyn was on a severe time limit.So the heir does what she does best. She studies, she manipulates, and she exploits. Except this time, Jyn Erso may be on the path to triggering a cross-species war...[Artemis Fowl AU where Jyn is a criminal mastermind, Chirrut and Baze are her doting but badass bodyguards, Kay is an unappreciated genius, Bodhi is a Sprite charged with breaking and entering and Cassian is the youngest fairy in LEP Recon.]





	1. The Book of the People

**Author's Note:**

  * For [melanoradrood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanoradrood/gifts).



> **I have an uncountable amount of unfinished, ongoing and drafted works for both fandoms, and what do I do?**
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> **You don’t really have to have read the AF books to understand this, and I’m going for a slightly different story.**  
>   
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> **Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even the premise of this story. Artemis Fowl and all related places/incidents belong to Eoin Colfer, and Jyn Erso and all related characters belong to Disney/Lucasfilms.**

Ho Chi Minh city in the summer. The heat was sweltering and oppressive by anyone’s standards, but most of all Jyn Erso’s— that is not to say that Jyn was not used to discomfort, rather that on a day like this, she would prefer to be as into her element as possible. The heat did not help her think. Neither did the smells emanating from street vendors’ carts, or the blanket of dust on the crowded roads, or Baze’s restless tapping at their discoloured plastic table. She irritably wiped a bead of sweat off her forehead.

“Stop that,” she admonished, doing her best to glare sternly in his direction.

Baze’s fingers slowed their rhythm on the tabletop, but did not stop. “Is the Lady irritated? Perhaps we can return on another day, or abandon this venture altogether, because it’s clearly not good for your health.” 

Jyn sighed, her shoulders slumping for the first time that day. “I know you’re not a hundred percent on-board with this idea…”

Her bodyguard snorted.

She rolled her eyes and almost petulantly slammed her elbows down on the table, but she caught herself just in time- that would look childish, and she was not a child. _She_ was the heir to the Ersos’ empire of wealth, at fifteen years old, and even though Baze was allowed to tease her youthfulness, the world at large didn’t have that right. They already looked quite a pair- two completely unrelated looking foreigners in this city, Baze being well above the average height and build of...anyone, really, and her, a slight-looking girl in neat business attire. They could be father and daughter if not for the clear absence of any common features.

Baze was about to say something else that would likely tempt a reaction from her when they were finally approached by a waiter in uniform. Jyn leaned back against the frame of her chair and studied the man with piercing, analysing blue-green eyes. 

As experience had proven, their contact turned to Baze first, assuming him to be running the operation. 

“Would you like to see our menu, sir?”

Jyn rapped the table for attention, and the man startled at the noise before nervously turning her way. 

“If you were going to pretend to be a waiter,” she told him icily, “You should’ve at least considered getting the uniform of the right café, rather than that of the deli across the street.” 

The man started stuttering, colour draining from his face. “There’s- there’s got to be a mistake, ma’am-”

“I’ll explain,” Jyn leaned forward, resting her chin lightly on the tips of her knuckles as she ran her visual study a second time. “The ring on your index finger, I notice there’s a date on it. Married man. In these parts it is uncommon for married men to wait tables at small cafés unless, by some underhand dealings, they’re allowed to make money on the side. I also notice that you slur certain syllables in your speech- much like our contact did, over the phone. You are carrying a camera-pen, which I’m afraid Baze will have to confiscate. It’s nothing personal. If it makes you feel better, I am completely unarmed.”

Jyn watched Tivik’s posture go from stiff to a little more relaxed once that sunk in.

“However, Baze is carrying on his person a Sig Sauer, two shrike throwing knives in his boots, a derringer two-shot up his sleeve, garrotte wire in watch and three stun grenades concealed in various pockets. Anything else, Baze?”

She could just about tell that her bodyguard was at least enjoying this stage of the proceedings. “The cosh, ma’am.”

“Oh yes. A good old ball-bearing cosh in his front pocket. Never fails.”

Tivik was shaking his head rapidly and sweating profusely before she even got to the end of her sentence. “There’s no need, sir. Ma’am. What you’re looking for, I know where it is.”

Jyn felt a familiar rush coming back, the kind she only got when she was training in the dojo with Chirrut, or holding the winning cards in a particularly enticing deal. Business. Being dealt with like an adult, like the current controller of the Erso finances and not like a little girl who ought to be in school.

“And I am supposed to take your word for this?” Jyn drummed the table, feigning impatience. “You could be walking me straight into an ambush. My family is not without enemies.”

“No, no.” Tivik’s eyes looked like they weren’t sure if they should be more weary of the pale fifteen-year-old or her bulky and armoured companion. “I have proof. Look.”

Jyn did not show any outward responses as she studied the image offered to her. The picture showed a faint outline behind a curtain, and a hand reaching through- dark green and mottled, with brown nails gnarled into uneven shapes.

“Explain,” said Jyn, and although her voice was quiet, it carried like an order.

“The woman here. She claims to be a healer, and there are many who claim that her magic has worked.”

Jyn turned sharp eyes up at Tivik. “What does she work for?” 

The man swallowed, involuntarily taking a step back. “She- she only asks for a bottle of rice wine, from her visitors.” 

_This is it._

It worked out. It made sense. 

“I’ll take your word for it.” Jyn stood, smoothing down the front of her jacket. Nothing fancy, just a custom Italian piece with its matching knee-length office skirt. Dark blue, with a pair of covered Walter Steiger heels. As unappealing as the prospect of wearing heels on uneven roads such as this was, Jyn didn’t fancy the idea of compromising an outfit meant to look professional. “If you will lead the way, please, Mr Tivik.”

Tivik furiously scrubbed the sweat off his brow. “Information only- that was the agreement.” 

By now Baze had also stood, towering over them both, and he placed an _encouraging_ hand on the shorter man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, sir, but the time when you had a choice in the matter is long past.”

  
  


The healer’s residence- if one could call the shelter of curtains and worn blankets tucked into a far corner of Tu Do Street a residence- was more accessible than Jyn had anticipated, meaning that the only thing preventing any passer-by from entering was the strong smell of incense that mingled grossly with the odour of the sewers. She supposed that fear was what did it- these simple people going about their ordinary lives would doubtless be weary of a woman who claimed to work witchcraft, and give her a wide berth. 

Tivik pointed towards the shelter, though he was keeping a good distance away from it. “She lives there. Never comes out. Can I go, now?”

Jyn didn’t answer, and didn’t tear her eyes away from the tent of old fabrics. “Baze, could you hand me the goggles?”

Baze pressed a pair of night-vision glasses into her palm, and she got the message when he lingered- _be careful. There could be no turning back._

Jyn Erso had never wanted to turn back. It wasn’t in her blood to turn back.

Everything turned different hues of green when she strapped the glasses over her eyes. She approached the shadowy nest. Crouched low enough to peer through the small opening between the curtains, willing her breath not to catch, and her heartrate to slow down.

A squat figure, or perhaps just shrunken, sat against the far wall of fabric, wrapped in a filthy shawl. Empty glass bottles- cheap wine labels- were collected in piles beside her. It was impossible to tell with the night vision goggles if the little bit of skin on display was actually green, but Jyn was entirely certain of one thing.

The healer wasn’t human.

“Madam,” she said, calmly. “I have a proposition for you.”

Eyes that looked like yellow orbs through the goggles looked up at the sound of her voice. “Wine,” rasped the healer. “Wine, English.” 

Jyn smiled. The gift of tongues, aversion to light, coping with alcoholism. Check, check and check.

“English it is. About my proposition?” 

The healer, fragile as she looked, raised a bony finger in protest. “Wine first. Then you talk.” 

Jyn cocked her head to a side, her every nerve buzzing with the familiar thrill of _business._ “Baze?”  

Hey bodyguard reached into a pocket and drew out a half-pint of the finest Irish whiskey, taken from the family’s extensive collection. Jyn saw very little use for the brewery herself, and she could not afford to restock it, but whenever she had to entertain a client or an associate, Baze would pick out an appropriate label to bring to them. He did not let Jyn partake in any drinking herself, and although this always made her feel her age- it wasn’t the biggest confidence booster, when she was dealing with adults who ought to view her as an equal, Baze was simply unrelenting in his stance on the subject. _Someday, I will train you on how much to drink, and when, and how to hold your liquor,_ he often answered. _It is not that day yet._  

Today, Jyn held the bottle enticingly before the shadows. She barely had time to remove her goggles when a claw-like hand, hard, gnarled nails, darted from the shadows to snatch it from her. A green hand. Without doubt.

She smiled softly, a little triumphant grin. 

“Pay our friend, Baze. The full amount. And remember, Mr Tivik, this is between us, unless you want Baze to come find you.”

Tivik gulped audibly. “No, miss Erso. I will not breathe a word of this.”

“If you do, it will be your last.” Jyn watched the exchange take place, if you could really call the quick swap of US dollars that, and Tivik didn’t even bother to count. He was out of Baze’s reach as soon as he had the money in hand, and sprung off without any pleasantries. He seemed thoroughly anxious. 

(In any event, the money was all there. Twenty thousand dollars. A needed sacrifice, but she planned on making the money back, and some more. A lot more.) 

She turned back to the healer, who’d slightly emerged from the darkest recesses of shadows, half the bottle empty. 

“Now, Madam, you have something that I want.”

“Yes, English. Sore head. Bad tooth. I heal.” 

Jyn pulled the goggles back over her head and crouched down to the healer’s level. Her pale legs made for sharp contrast with the colour of the shadows and rags. “I’m afraid I have nothing you can heal, and this may be well beyond your usual area. No, Madam, what I want from you is your Book.” 

The healer froze, going rigid for all of five seconds. 

“Book?” she then asked with incredulity that Jyn saw right through. “I don’t know about book. You want book, go library. I am healer.” 

Jyn made a show of sighing with exasperation. “You are no healer. You are a sprite, p’shóg, fairy, ka-dalun. Whichever language you prefer. And I want your Book.”

The fairy threw back her shawl, and Jyn saw it now- saw with extreme clarity the green skin, wrinkled and badly aged, hooked nose and golden eyes. Pointed ears. The alcohol addiction had kneaded her features into something slack and unsightly.

“If you know about Book, human,” her eyelids twitched as she fought the numbing effect of the whiskey, “then you know about magic I have. I can kill you with a snap of my fingers!”

Jyn looked nonchalant. “I highly doubt that. Look at you. Wasted, nearly dead. Pathetic. I am here to save you, in return for a glance at your Book. Only a glance.” 

The healer was suspicious, but not enough to miss her offer. “What does human want with our Book?” 

“That is not your concern. All you need to know are your options.”

“Options?” The fairy snarled, before taking another long swig off the bottle.

“One, you refuse to give us the book and we go home, leaving you to rot int this sewer.”

 “Yes. I choose this option.” 

Jyn willed herself not to smirk. This was playing out beautifully. “Don’t rush. If you go with that option, you won’t survive another day.”

“A day! Human thinks so highly of themselves. My magic allows me to outlive you, sick as I am.”

“Not with half a point of holy water inside you, it won’t,” Jyn said quietly, her gaze briefly drifting to the now-empty bottle. 

The fairy blanced, her grip slackening around the glass, and shot her one long look of abject terror before she threw her head back and screamed. 

“Holy water! You have murdered me!”

“Not yet,” said Jyn mildly.

The fairy set the bottle down, eyeing it as if it wasn’t done with her yet, and her golden eyes were wide with fear as she turned to Jyn. “Second option. Now.”

Jyn steepled her fingers. “You give me the Book, for only thirty minutes. I give your magic back to you.”

The current focus of her attention hissed. “Impossible.” 

“No.” Jyn adapted an even tone. “I have with me two ampoules. A vial of spring water from the fairy well sixty metres below the ring of Tara, possibly the most magical place on Earth. It will counter the holy water. The other is a little shot of man-made magic- it will flush every drop of rice wine from your body, removing your dependence. It’ll be a bit messy, but you will be on your feet again, as you were fifty years ago.” 

The sprite seemed to contemplate this. Tempting. “Why should I trust you, human?” 

“Fair enough.” Jyn shurgged. “I’ll give you the water on faith. Then, after I’ve had your Book for thirty minutes, you get the booster. Take it or leave it.” 

The pain was getting to her. It curled around her damaged liver, and Jyn could see it, the desperate look of someone running out of options fast. She held out her hand. “I take it.”

Jyn nodded. “First vial, please, Baze.”

The bodyguard unwrapped a Velcro case containing a syringe gun and two vials, crouching down beside her. He didn’t even look surprised at his first real glimpse of the green creature. Jyn nearly missed to questioning look he sent her way, the one she was all too familiar with, that spelt, _are you sure you want to do this?_

“Yes,” she answered, under her breath, and he loaded the first vial, shooting it into the sprite’s mottled arm. The fairy stiffened for a moment before she relaxed.

“Strong magic,” she rasped. 

“Not as strong as your own will be after the booster. Your Book, please.”

 The sprite drew a small, thick square from the folds of her robe, and the excited pounding in her head was getting to be quite a problem. This was it. They were finally _here,_ and soon the Ersos would be powerful again.  

“No use to human anyway. Written in the old tongue.”

Jyn had plans for that. She didn’t say anything, only holding her upturned palm out for the fairy to place the Book in.

She didn’t have to tell Baze what had to be done. He used their thirty minutes well, photographing every page with care and efficiency. When he was finished, he went through the images to ensure everything was in order, right there on the phone she’d made sure was untraceable, completely closed-off. These images would not be uploaded to any law enforcement’s databanks. 

Jyn returned the Book to its owner, offering up the barest of hospitable smiles. “Pleasure doing business with you.” 

“The other antidote, human?”

“Of course. I did promise. But before we administer it, I must warn you- it won’t be pleasant. You’re not going to enjoy it one bit.”

The fairy made a snorting sound, gesturing at her ramschakle quarters. “You think I enjoy this? I want to fly again.” 

Baze loaded the second vial, and this time he didn’t even check with her first.

The sprite immediately collapsed, her body starting to convulse violently. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Jyn told her bodyguard. “Half a century of alcohol finding ways to leave a body is by no means a pleasant sight.”

  
  
  



	2. Lost in Translation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic started off as an itch to scratch but then it got real angsty. Go figure.

 

Jyn felt a powerful jolt of excitement with every stride she took into the Manor, hopping out of the Bentley in spite of Baze’s warning that the car wasn’t done moving. She nearly sprained her ankle running up the grand 20th-century staircase- but found, upon reaching her destination, that she wasn’t really upset about it _._ The thrill of discovery had gripped her bones, and the only thought on her mind was of crashing into her study and pulling up every reference to the fairy language she’d found thus far. Her heels clacked loudly on the wood as she skidded to a halt before her study door, fingers an inch away from the locking mechanism-

-when she heard a familiar chiding tap of a staff, and then the tapping of a foot like someone requesting an explanation.

Jyn groaned, turning around on her ankle. Chirrut stood behind her with crossed arms and an expectant look on his face, his eyes unseeing but _knowing_. Sometimes, sometimes…

“Look, I’m tired and jet lagged,” she slumped her shoulders, going for sympathy. Little else worked on the Manor caretaker. “I’ll tell you about it later, I promise.”

Chirrut raised an eyebrow as if he could see her. It was unnerving. Sometimes, she even entertained the wild notion that the man wasn’t really blind. “Baze informed me that where you went, there was a lot of sand and dust. I also do not trust the airline you took to get there, business-class though it was, because the tickets weren’t up to the standard premium pricing and you did not eat a morsel of food while on-board. On both plane journeys.”

Jyn gritted her teeth and wished, not for the first time in her young adult life, that her bodyguard would quit ratting on her to his closest confidante.

“Your point being?”

The manor caretaker smiled serenely. “I have just made the whole building look to be in living condition again. I arranged the mess that was your study, and even set out new linen for you. You are not destroying my hours of careful work with the dust and germs from the streets and airports you’ve been through the past three weeks.”

She sighed, her breath rattling out through her nose. Now that she’d had the time to get herself grounded, she really did feel the relentless activity of the last three weeks catch up to her, and her soles suddenly ached from the steep heels. Jyn would have preferred changing into comfortable clothes before their flight, but they’d run into an old business associate of her father’s before she’d had the chance. And as the man had been interested in talking to the heir, and was taking the same flight back to Ireland, Jyn had decided to forgo comfort for the sake of her image. Baze had clearly not been happy with the arrangement, but he’d done her the favour of keeping quiet. He did not like that she couldn’t dress like an ordinary girl her age, and he didn’t like her latest scheme one bit, Jyn knew, but he understood why all of it had to be done. She preferred his unappreciative looks and scolding tone to any outwardly expressed sympathy from his part. Disapproval she could live with, but she hated being the subject of sympathy. 

 _Poor girl. So much older than her age. Lost her father, and what’s she to do with all that money?_  

“Fine.” Jyn shook her head at him. “I’ll go clean up. Can you...I haven’t had anything to eat since we boarded, just a few protein bars, so it would be nice if you can…”

Chirrut smiled warmly. “There’s marinated lamb in the oven and a fresh olive salad I was just whisking up.”

Her stomach growled at the image the words produced, and also untensed a little in relief. “Thank you.”

Chirrut inclined his head to a side. “There’s also a new batch of butter cookies with hazelnut purée and an optional mint dip.” 

It was almost embarrassing how fast her face lit up at the news, but she couldn’t care less- she’d missed this, she’d missed home. Chirrut accepted her quick embrace with open arms.

“Off you go, Lady,” he pointed her bodily towards the door at the far end of the corridor. “Get that airport smell off of you, and then we’ll talk.”  
  


 

The Manor had its own greenhouse and garden, once upon a time maintained by qualified botanists with high wages, but ever since the disappearance of her father the place had gradually lost its spellbinding grandeur. Jyn had had to dismiss their employees, all nineteen caretakers and chefs, holding onto only Baze and Chirrut, who’d have stayed back even she hadn’t asked, and even if they weren’t being paid meagre salaries now.

Chirrut had maintained the Manor on his own for the past two years, and Jyn had felt nothing short of awe at how he kept the place functional. When she’d been much younger, she hadn’t even known where the great house ended, and a lot of her time had been spent trying to find out. The building was formidable in size, built on solid bedrock and a land spanning two hundred acres, the edges of which Jyn had never seen until she’d turned ten.

Jyn picked at the fresh salad leaves and roasted mushrooms from their garden in orange vinaigrette, having devoured her steak before Chirrut and Baze had shown up in the kitchen and pulled out a chair each beside her and opposite her, respectively. 

“Something wrong, Jyn?” Chirrut asked in that gentle way of his that gave you the impression he already knew what the matter was. 

She shook her head, pushing an olive into her mouth.

“No. Just...thinking. I’m mostly glad I’m not hungry anymore.” 

“Well, we know you do a lot of _that,”_  snorted Baze, a smile threatening to break out on his lips. “Thinking about the plan, or thinking about some unrelated and eccentric project like, I don’t know, harvesting the methane from cows?”  

Jyn chucked an olive at him, laughing when he expertly caught it in a fist.

“You should take the methane thing seriously. It’s an environmental disaster.”

“ _Children_ ,” Chirrut chided. “Playing with food. Have I not taught you better? You especially, Jyn, I expected better from you.”

As if to prove a point, Jyn responded with scraping the bottom of the Pyrex dish her steak had come in, scavenging the leftover grease. Chirrut wrinkled his nose in delicate disgust as she mixed that in with her salad and Baze burst out laughing louder than was strictly polite.

“But to answer your question,” she started slowly, once the light moment had eased off a little. “I am thinking of the plan. More specifically, how to translate the Fairy text, and where we go from there.”

Baze and Chirrut shared a concerned look between them that she did not miss- of course she didn’t- which made her gut churn a little, unpleasantly. She didn’t like that they sometimes thought her no more than a child, that these ventures were not her place— although, at the end of the day, she knew they meant well, and that they only had their concerns because they cared. They were the only people left, who cared.

If all went according to plan, this would be her most dangerous venture yet. They were dabbling in vastly unknown territory, dealing with things that should rather be left alone. 

Chirrut placed a firm hand on her shoulder, and Baze reached across the table to take her hand in both of his larger ones. 

“We are with you, Jyn,” her bodyguard said. “All the way.”

  
  


The Book was proving twice as stubborn as Jyn had expected. No matter the program she ran it through- some to which she’d done bug fixes herself- the computer screen yielded the same message.

_ERROR. TRY AGAIN?_

She worked the ancient photocopier in her study to its limits, hard-copying every page and the corresponding unhelpful input from the computer, tacking the sheets to the walls. The script was like nothing she’d seen before, yet...oddly familiar. Like there was something sitting right before her eyes, something heinously obvious that wasn’t occurring to her.

What the program really needed, Jyn supposed, was a frame of reference. Something to draw parallels with? Surely the Fairy language couldn’t be completely unrelated to any human language at all. She ran comparisons with Chinese, Greek, Arabic and Cyrillic. Even Urdu and Ogham. Nothing. Not a smear of similarity. 

She dropped her head to her desk in frustration, holding back the urge to curse out loud. She was not an easily put-off _child_. The Erso finances had only stayed afloat so long because she’d persisted. Surely she wasn’t to be outdone by some stupid symbols with no apparent pattern to them—

Her fingers tightened around the sheets of paper in her hands. Wait. Yes. There was a pattern- just not the same order in every page. Some pages read left to right. Some right to left. Top to bottom. 

And a single character that recurred, periodically, and was probably what had struck her as familiar in the first place… 

Egyptian hieroglyphs. Of course. Jyn felt a smile coming on, both at the welcome discovery and her own short-sightedness. Her previous research had shone quite the spotlight on ancient Egyptian stories, most giving the impression that fairykind predated man. It would appear that the Egyptians adapted existing fairy scriptures to tell their stories.

There had to be other similarities, but vague enough that the computer wouldn’t be able find them. Jyn had no qualms about switching her task to manual. Finally, a decent challenge. One she would have to overcome with her own brain and no outside help. 

Attaching meaning to scarcely related pictures and symbols meant delving through various interpretations and crossing out the ones that didn’t make sense, and stringing pictures together to see if her assumptions meant anything.

It was late by the time she had enough to feed into the computer program. She could be mostly right, or she could be only partially correct but it was a _start._ Excitement made her heart thump in her ribcage as she arrayed everything as neatly as possibly, gave the computer something it could work with.  

Upon pressing ‘Decode’, however, all she got was a meaningless string of gibberish that filled up the entire screen.

Jyn shook her head, calling on her reserves of patience. She didn’t have much of it, but when the Book was clearly testing her limits, she couldn’t afford to be put down like this.

She spared a thoughtful glance at the papers now scattered across her study floor. Perhaps the individual characters didn’t make sense on their own; needed to be stringed in a sentence to derive meaning. But the Book didn’t follow a pattern in terms of its reading order and her guess was that every page was different. How did the Fairy People tell? 

This was an essential text for them. Surely it could be understood by anyone of their race, even those intellectually lacking. There had to be direction. Some way of telling the moron how to read this scripture. 

Jyn got to the floor and scanned every page for something indicatory. Something that she’d earlier overlooked as a punctuation mark, perhaps? 

She saw it. Discrete pointers- not quite arrowheads, but tiny curved lines that pointed in definite directions. You started from the centre and read outwards. Sometimes you started from the edges and read inwards.

Jyn got up to grab a pair of scissors and got to work. Carefully cutting out lines and reassembling them in reading order, left to right, in the order of Western languages. She scanned each row in order into the computer, and fed them into the Egyptian translator.

She sat back and waited, leaning heavily against the back of her chair. She had no mind of giving up if this attempt also failed, but it was getting late, and jetlag was starting to stir its ugly head as her adrenalin wore off. Worse, if Chirrut walked in and found her in this state- she could hide nothing from him, he always had a way of telling- he would bodily drag her out of the study and lock her in her own bedroom, cheerfully announcing that he’d remove the barricade outside her door at six the following morning. 

Jyn felt her throat go dry. The screen flashed a new message, colourless and primitive-looking.

_FILE CONVERTED._

The text definitely made sense, now. There was a bit of fine-tuning needed, a couple of mistakes, but it was otherwise perfectly legible and the words echoed in her head as she skimmed through them, the gravity of what she’d just accomplished heavy on her shoulders.

She was probably the first human in thousands of years to decode the Book. This was the beginning of something bigger than herself, maybe bigger than she believed she could achieve— 

Jyn was startled out of her thoughts at an urgent rap on the door.

She pushed her chair back and scrambled to cross the room and open it. That was Chirrut’s _urgent_ knock, reserved usually for…for…  

“It’s your mother,” said the Manor caretaker, some of the colour drained from his face. “She’s looking for you.”

  
  


Jyn took a deep breath and knocked on her mother’s bedroom door.

“Mr Îmwe?” came a weak voice, so spent and quiet that Jyn almost had to choke back a sob. “Are you here to switch the rug, again? It’s awfully dusty in here.”

She gritted her teeth, steeling herself. Pushed open the door and stepped in. The room was dark, the blackout curtains drawn shut save for a sliver of space between them that allowed blue-black night light to peek through. Only a bedside lamp, relocated to the far corner of the room and pushed up against the wall with a pile of cardboard boxes provided illumination. It cast a soft yellow glow that didn’t quite reach the four-poster bed and its drawn sheer curtains.

The room _was_ dusty. Chirrut would take care of that, if he had his way, but her mother had been peculiar about visitors ever since her father had disappeared over the Baltic and presumed dead.  

“No, Mama, it’s me.” Jyn stood at threshold like a child waiting to be called their turn, fidgeting despite her best efforts. Minutes ago, her nerves had been alight with excitement at a new discovery, but all that had deserted her the moment the caretaker had come knocking. Now she only felt dread. Dread and a sick, churning feeling in her stomach and the urge to get out of here before she saw more of her mother’s condition and damned herself further. 

The silhouette of Lyra Erso sat up behind the sheer curtains, pulling them apart only a fraction to get a look. It was too dark for Jyn to see her from this distance. She shook a few hesitant steps forward.

“My little girl,” said Lyra, genuine wonderment in her voice. “Look how you’ve grown. You remind me so much of your father.” 

Jyn clenched her fists at her side but responded evenly. “I’m sure, Mama.”

“Come closer,” whispered her mother, hoarsely. “Do you not want to be close to me, Stardust?”

Jyn broke. “Yes, Mama. I do. I want to see you. Please.”

She strode forward, forgetting her reservations, came so close her knees bumped against the side of the bed. She held her hands out for Lyra to take, and when she felt her mother’s palms in hers- rough, calloused like a laborer’s when this woman had until just two years ago not seen a day of that hard labour- she again felt like crying. Her mother did not deserve this. Jyn wished she could cure this crippling illness by some magic or science, but what could she do when Lyra refused to see therapists and skipped her medicines? Was there really anything that could fix this in the first place?

“Give your mother a hug, Stardust.” 

She did, keeping her embrace careful because her mother looked so fragile, these days, but she couldn’t help tightening her arms once her embrace was returned. It took a while for Jyn to note that her mother smelt of light perfume and musk- she pulled back, a frown involuntarily creasing her brow when she noted the intricate white lace hugging Lyra’s shoulders and neck. 

“What is…”

Suddenly Lyra laughed, a carefree, real laugh that Jyn hadn’t heard in all of two years, and for a second she was shocked enough to stumble back abruptly.

“Oh, Jyn, your father and I just had the wild idea of trying on our wedding clothes again! Doesn’t my dress still fit so well?” 

To Jyn’s horror, her mother reached for the hand of— yes, a straw dummy, from the dojo where Baze taught her how to defend herself, except the dummy had a black suit jacket thrown over it and trousers haphazardly pulled on. 

Lyra was now gazing into the lifeless effigy’s face, where its eyes would be, affectionately stroking its hand like it was really her husband. 

“But you’re a little overgrown now, Galen. I think I’ve fed you a little _too_ well. Don’t you say, Jyn? Maybe we should all go skiing again, as a family, and then your father can shiver and freeze off that extra weight!”  

Jyn took a step back. Then another. She kept walking backwards, unable to tear her gaze away, something cold and merciless gripping her heart, sinking its claws all the way in.

“Stardust? Where did you go?” A hearty laugh. “Were we making you uncomfortable, dear?” 

She slammed the door shut as soon as she was out, the tears freely flowing now, and turned around to run down the stairs, put distance between herself and the madness unfolding in the room.

Jyn hurried all the way to the bottom floor, further down than her study or her bedroom, and threw herself on the long sofa in the middle of the plush living room. 

She hugged one of the cushions to her chest, ignoring how the cover pricked her, and buried her face in the fabric until the crying stopped.

  
  
  
  
  
  



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